


The Butterfly Effect

by Natzan



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe, Angst, Angst and Humor, Bad Puns, Bat Brothers, Bat Family, Blood and Violence, Bruce Wayne is Not Batman, Comedy, Court of Owls, Dick Grayson is a Talon, Gen, Gun Violence, Guns, Hurt/Comfort, Jason Todd Has Issues, Jason Todd Needs A Hug, Kidnapping, Medical, Medical Procedures, No Romance, On the Run, Survival, Tim Drake is a Talon, dick is a pun lord, jason is a paramedic, tim cant drive, tim drake is a little shit
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-25
Updated: 2018-01-25
Packaged: 2019-03-09 08:24:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13477551
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Natzan/pseuds/Natzan
Summary: Bruce never went to see Zorro with his parents. Dick never became the first Robin. Jason never stole the tiers. Tim never figured out who Batman was. Damien was never born. Jason found being a paramedic helped to deal with his past, but Tim and Dick found their past still catching up to them with a knife...





	The Butterfly Effect

It was his day off.  
And then again, when you're a paramedic you never really have a day off. Especially not when you're Jason Todd.  
Which is why he always carried a medical bag in the back of his car - for days like today after a really shitty date with a girl he'll probably never see again. He's driving home when he happens upon a car accident by the side of the road.  
He stops his car, reaches into the bag in the back and pulls on a pair of blue rubber gloves. He then immediately grabs the ALS bag, slings it onto his back and runs to the first of the two cars, a grey executive car with a woman standing outside it looking at the damage done to the front.  
"What happened?" he asks her, making the woman turn around wildly in surprise. She's probably around 30, blonde hair tied tight into a bun and round reading glasses sitting on her nose. Jason guessed maybe a lawyer or some high-up business executive from her business suit.  
"The car in front of me just stopped!" she replied.  
"Was there anyone with in your car?" Jason asked, scanning the woman head to toe for any sign of injury.  
"No, I was alone," she replied with a shake of her head.  
She seemed okay if maybe a little confused, but Jason still asked if she was hurt for the sake of his piece of mind.  
"Call 911 for me, please," he asked her when she replied she will, and then ran to the next car, a white BMV with a terrified looking teenager inside, eyes wide as he noticed Jason standing there.  
"What happened?" Jason asked.  
"I… I think I killed him," the teenager, a kid really, replied with tears in his eyes.  
"The car?" Jason gestured to where he'd just come from, where the woman stood with her cell phone pressed to her ear, "The woman in there is fine, just some minor damage to the car." It was entirely possible this kid had swiped the keys of his parent's car and snuck it out for a joyride on the town - only to then crash it and assume the worst. The idea made Jason angry; he'd too many results of reckless stupidity and how it usually ended, and it made him marvel for the miracle that was him making it this far in life considering he wasn't much better at that age.  
"N...No," the teenager stuttered out, pointing to something beyond his van, "A motorcyclist, I... I hit him. He flew to the side of road."  
This is when Jason finally noticed the crashed black motorcycle laying half in the air on the side of the hill, the safety rail snapped where the bike had made impact as it went flying.  
"I… I swear to God he just came out of nowhere… he tried to pass me!" the boy cried, looking far too small and helpless for his age - an effect somewhat hampered by the faint scent of weed wafting out of the van window. What did Jason care though? He wasn't a cop and he wasn't this kid's mommy. He was an EMT, so he nodded at the kid and then took off for the twisted black metal sitting in the grass on the side of the road. There's a body laying nearby, crumpled and covered in dirt and mud. Blue jeans and a leather jacket were twisted and ripped around his body, only one shoe still clinging to his foot and (thankfully) a motorcycle helmet still secured to his head.  
"Sir? Sir? Can you hear me?" Jason called as he started tending to the guy, removing the helmet to reveal a shock of jet black hair underneath, "My name is Jason, I'm a paramedic, and I came to help you."  
To Jason's surprise the man still has the ability to move, which he demonstrated by flipping fully onto his back and covering his face with his hands while muttering, "Tartar Sauce…"  
"Sir you can't move yet, you may have serious injuries," Jason said, trying to hold the man in place but it was no good because the man was stronger and forced himself to sit up, running a scratched up hand through his hair.  
"Why is my foot cold?" The man asked, looking to Jason for a serious answer, "Where the heck is my shoe?"  
The man somehow pulled himself to his feet and looked around, making a noise of exclamation when he found the missing shoe maybe five meters away in the mud.  
"There she is!" He grinned, making his way over to the shoe while Jason nervously followed, one hand still reaching for the medical bag on his back.  
This guy shouldn't be able to walk that well. He shouldn't be able to move around or bend down for his shoe - he was just thrown off his motorcycle by a flipping van! He's supposed to be immobile on the ground so Jason can check him over but no - he's reclaiming his shoe like he'd been through nothing.  
Maybe it was the adrenaline taking over, trauma preventing this guy from processing what just happened. Brain damage or at the very least a concussion muddling his mind - he said "tartar sauce" in reaction to being hit after all.  
"Sir, please stop moving!" Jason shouted as the man while he donned his lost shoe and was standing up again, "You could seriously be exacerbating any injuries you already have!"  
"Look, it is okay, Jaden, I don't need any help, I'm fi-" It was then that they both noticed another figure jump over the destroyed safety rail and the man's eyes widened in terror. He grabbed Jason roughly by the arm and pulled, crying, "Run!"  
One of the most amazing things about the human brain is that it can process information very fast, so when Jason hears a loud crack he recognizes it as a gunshot. His instincts kick in from there and he's running after the man - how is this guy running after an accident - as more loud gunshots follow.  
They don't stop until they hit the distant tree line, taking cover among the fall colored leaves, ducking under branches and jumping over rocks, roots, and boulders while fallen leaves crunch under their feet.  
They ran until they couldn't anymore, and Jason was left gasping for breath. Jason knew he could have gone farther, but he was out of shape and now he was paying for it.  
The other guy is propped up against a tree panting, and Jason wants to ask what's going on and why all the gunshots but the man crumples like a puppet getting its strings cut before he can.  
Jason throws the paramedic bag to the ground and rifles through it for a pair of scissors so he could cut the man's jacket and "Property of Gotham" t-shirt away. He then reaches for a stethoscope and presses it to the man's chest.  
"Shit, it's probably pneumothorax," he said mutters, reaching down to check the man's pulse - and then realizing he can't find one.  
Jason scrambled to do what he could, relieving the pressure with a chest drain, but there wasn't much he could do stuck in the middle of nowhere without his phone or any other medical equipment nearby.  
Jason searched the man's pockets and found a driver's license.  
"Well Richard Grayson, I hope you had a good life." Jason sighed. He checked for a pulse one more time but after thirty minutes of working on the guy he knew it was pointless and decided to call it.  
He was sure the woman or that kid would send the cops and paramedics his way when they arrived, assuming those gunshots weren't for them. All he could do now for the moment was wait and get his breath back.  
And wonder who this Richard Grayson was now that he was gone.  
Jason hated losing patients, especially when they were young and life was just beginning for them - even more so when they were close to his age and were a perfect example of what he could be if he wasn't careful. Usually this young there came a lot of loss, a bigger hole ripped into society by such a violent and awful exit.  
Jason considered himself the exception. No family, no one to rush home to, he hoped Richard Grayson at least had someone to mourn for him besides a very confused and medically amazed EMT. Anyone, a brother or parents, maybe even a few disgruntled enemies - just someone to notice he was gone. A good life or a bad life, this Richard hopefully made some sort of impact before death clawed him away like it does to everyone eventually.  
Jason slowly packed up his bag and stood up. He planned to make his way back to his car and see what the situation was there, hopefully the cops were already there so he could point them in the way of Grayson. There was nothing left for him to do at this point.  
He turned to leave the way he'd come, night having fully set in and making it harder to tell where he was supposed to go as light streamed through branches and leaves towards the ground.  
It was too beautiful a night to die.  
All thoughts halted abruptly though when he heard a mutter behind him, from the supposed dead body he'd been contemplating over.  
"Tartar sauce…"


End file.
